


in a world turned inside out

by blue--phantom (twilightscribe)



Series: my hollow heart has bled me dry [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Hunters, Buried Alive, Developing Relationship, First Meetings, Gen or Pre-Slash, Immortality, Immortals, M/M, Pre-Slash, Reaper76 Week, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9296297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightscribe/pseuds/blue--phantom
Summary: Gabe was absolutely not expecting to find the American soldier buried alive. Especially not in France.





	

Word is, the graveyard’s haunted.

Least, that’s what the townsfolk are saying. It’s the usual rumours and talk: disembodied voices, apparitions, and other strange assorted phenomena. Sometimes, it means that something has moved in that shouldn’t have; other times, it’s just kids playing around to have a laugh. But, since it’s his duty to investigate, Gabe’s here.

It’s an old cemetery. One that stretches way back and it’s full of old blood and new. The further into the graveyard he ventures, the more overgrown it becomes.

The graves at the front are neat and well-maintained, set into straight orderly rows. As Gabe ventures farther and farther into the depths of the graveyard, the less so it becomes. The forest has begun to encroach on the graveyard, absorbing the oldest back into nature.

Undergrowth is claiming the stones, obscuring the names and dates. Gabe pushes back the greenery, trying to make out just how far back he’s gone. The stones, though, are too worn down to make out anything in the faint light from the stars in the sky above.

Mist clings to the ground, parting in little swirls as he makes his way through the graveyard. The only noises are the crunch of his boots in the undergrowth, the soft sounds of his breathing. Besides that, it’s a silent and still night – no sound of wildlife.

If Gabe were human, it would set the hairs on the back of his neck on end.

But given that he’s not, all it does is set his senses on edge.

His breath clouds in front of him, condensing into a pale white cloud that dissipates quickly.

It starts out quiet. A muffled series of thuds.

Thud. Thud thud. Thud.

Gabe stops. Tilts his ears towards it. Listens closely, trying to make out more.

There’s the noise again. The thuds.

They form a rhythm. They sound like boots on stone.

Closing his eyes, Gabe focuses on listening. He tunes everything else out, only listening.

He can hear the quiet whistle of a slight breeze in the trees. The scamper of something small in the woods. The thudding noise becomes deafening, loud and overpowering.

But that’s not all he hears.

Underneath that, he can hear ragged breathing. Coughing. The drag of lungs struggling for air, trying to give out and failing. The slow beat of a sluggish heart.

There is something alive trapped in the graveyard.

Gabe opens his eyes, head turned towards the sounds are coming from. He picks his way through the overgrown graveyard, taking extra care not to step into a hole caused by a partially collapsed grave.

The noises get louder and louder.

He stops outside of the source of them. It’s an old mausoleum, overgrown with vines; its door practically sealed shut from the underbrush growing along it.

But, looking closer, Gabe realizes that isn’t true.

Minor though they are, he can see the signs of disturbance along the edges of the wrought-iron door. Places where the underbrush has been torn or cut away, allowing for the door to open. The door is so rusted that he’s certain that one good kick would take it down, but that would make a lot of noise.

He’s loath to disturb the stillness of a graveyard at night.

Who knows what else he might wake?

Instead, he eases the gate open as carefully as he can. It rasps against the stone, its hinges shrieking with age and effort.

The thudding stops. There’s silence for a long stretch of time and Gabe stops, listening. He can still hear the beat of a heart, the drag of someone struggling for breath.

There’s a loud bang. Of something hard and heavy slamming against stone.

It’s followed swiftly by a long, low muffled noise. To anyone else, it would sound like an otherworld shriek – a cry from beyond the grave.

To Gabe, it sounds like someone crying out for help. He can hear the syllables, muffled and quiet though they are.

They’re coming from one of the sarcophagi. Its heavy, stone lid quiets the sound, making it sound unnatural. That its coming from a grave only adds to its unnerving quality.

Gabe leans his shotgun against the wall. He runs his fingers along the edge of the lid of the sarcophagus. The name of its occupant has long since worn off, the family having likely died out long before. Given the state of the mausoleum, it’s likely not seen any care since before the revolution.

Lifting the lid will be no issue for him.

He crouches down, speaking into the crack between the lid and the body of the sarcophagus.

“Listen here, you better not bite my head off or I’ll be pissed.”

He gets a muffled assent. The voice, because that’s what it is, is weak and thin, but definitely male.

Strangest yet, the accent is definitely American.

Bracing his feet against the ground, Gabe shoves the slab covering the sarcophagus off. It lands on the ground with a loud crack, having made an ungodly grinding noise as he pushed it. He leans in, carefully, anticipating _something_.

“Thanks,” a raspy voice says. “I thought I’d be stuck in here forever.”

A pair of pale, bloodied and bruised hands grip the edge of the sarcophagus, hauling out a man who looks very much like death warmed over. He’s clearly not seen the sun in ages, skin looking translucent in places; highlighting the brilliant, bright blue of his eyes, which are surrounded by circles darker than pitch.

“You mind telling me _why_ you’re in here?”

The man blinks, “Oh, um. It’s a bit of a long story…”

“I’ve got nowhere else to be.”

He scratches his chin, then sighs and leans against the opposite edge of the sarcophagus, “Well see, it all started back in 1782…”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Prompt:** “How We Were” - History/Decay  
>  **Words:** 970 words
> 
> Oh look, it's more of the AU that is running away with me. But... I'm comfortably seated in my little hole and it's going to be difficult to get me to leave now. I mean, you could tempt me away by saying I should totally write all of the vampire AUs, but... I digress.
> 
> You can also find me over on [tumblr](http://graysonflynn.tumblr.com/), where I am an even bigger dork.


End file.
